


The Littlest Uncle Agent Affair part 2

by Mrs_Spooky



Series: Littlest UNCLE Agent Affair [2]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen, Kidnapping, Memories, Toddlers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-15
Updated: 2017-04-15
Packaged: 2018-10-19 00:14:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,056
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10628151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mrs_Spooky/pseuds/Mrs_Spooky
Summary: UNCLE launches a rescue operation but will Illya make it through the attempt?





	1. You could have just asked

“WHAT HAPPENED TO ME, NAPOLEON?” Illya repeated with barely controlled panic.

“Illya? ILLYA!!” Napoleon squeezed the struggling baby, trying unsuccessfully to sort out his emotions. He was overjoyed having the Illya he knew back. But he knew he didn’t completely have him, his friend was still in the form of a baby. He still didn’t know if that serum was going to kill him.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” the shocked Doctor Martin asked. She had quickly called for Doctor Steele who was rushing in when he heard the shouting. He reached out to Illya’s jaw to check his glands again but his hand was batted away by the little arm..

“Illya, calm down. LISTEN to me, you have to calm down!” Napoleon set his thrashing friend on the bed and perched on the edge next to him, gripping the child’s shoulders. “What is the last thing you remember? It’s important.”

The look on Napoleon’s face told him he had better do what he was told. He regained his composure. “We were leaving that hillside satrap,” he began. “I was covering while you got that woman we rescued out. I was right behind you when… I was almost to the door when… I was shot in the knee. The back end of the place blew and it knocked me out. I came to and was trying to crawl out of there but there were two THRUSH guards left alive. They recovered too. They caught me and shot my other knee, then my elbows and my hands. My hands were blown off.” 

Illya looked down at his tiny hands uncomprehendingly. He shook his head then took a ragged breath. “One of them called in to tell their bosses what happened and they said to bring me to a place called Mallard Medical in Charleston. Alive. When we got there… I’m trying to remember, it was like a dream. That man was there,” he said pointing to Doctor Steele, “and Victor Marton. I passed out and the next thing I know you were shushing me saying you were right here.”

Napoleon sprang to his feet. Victor Marton! They had to warn Waverly. He pulled out his communicator but before he could activate it, the thing signaled it’s two tone alert. He activated it and heard the urgent report that Marton had taken Waverly. He had eluded Waverly’s protection team and got away.

Napoleon whirled to rush back to Waverly’s office, Illya jumped up too, “Wait! What’s going on, take me with you!” but Napoleon was gone. The doctors descended on Illya.

 

***

 

“Alexander. Alexander, wake up.”

The voice, dimly perceived at first, rapidly cleared. Waverly raised his head and shook it trying to clear it. His eyes opened and a few blinks brought his surroundings into focus. He tried to stir but couldn’t. He was sitting in a wooden chair, wrists tied to its arms, his ankles similarly tied to the chair’s legs. He focused on the man sitting in a leather chair across from him. Victor Marton. 

“So, Victor. Now we can REALLY catch up. You were about to tell me what you’ve been up to recently.” Waverly said dryly.

“Oh my dear friend, I have been busy. So very busy.” He sipped from a brandy snifter he held in his hand. “This is excellent brandy. I would offer you some, but you are unfortunately tied up at the moment.” He chuckled. “The reason I invited you, dear friend, is because you have something that belongs to me,” he continued.

“You could have just asked,” Waverly replied mildly. He had a feeling he knew what that ‘something’ was.

“A child. A child who is very important to THRUSH. He’s… vital to our interests, so to speak.”

“Ah! You mean Mister Kuryakin. I’m afraid he belongs to the Soviet navy. He’s on indefinite loan to UNCLE, but he is still theirs. If you want him, you should talk to them. I don’t plan on giving him up to anyone but the Soviets if they need him back.”

“The Soviets loaned you one of their people and you managed to lose him. Not very responsible of you, now is it, Alexander? Now the Russian is ours, and we want him back. We will get him back, and you are going to assist.”

“So it was you in charge of that so-called ‘fountain of youth’ program. It didn’t go quite as planned, did it?”

Marton sipped his brandy. “Not exactly as planned, no. We were and are still looking for that ‘fountain of youth,’ as you so quaintly put it. But it is still useful as is if it can be weaponized and used against government leaders, whole populations, soldiers on the battlefield.” Marton sipped his brandy. “The members of THRUSH Central are aging. If they could prolong their lives, their youth even, the rewards would be great for the one who can provide it to them.”

Waverly wanted him to say it. “And what does all this ‘fountain of youth’ for THRUSH Central have to do with Mister Kuryakin?”

Marton smiled, “Ah, Mister Kuryakin. An intriguing individual, that young man. Infuriating, but intriguing.” He swished his brandy around to watch the fingers of the golden fluid running down the inside of the glass. “We both know he’s a polymath, brilliant in any of a number of disciplines. I’m told he’s also an excellent musician.” He looked at Waverly who remained impassive. “We have use for such an individual. The Russians were wasting his talents and UNCLE is barely scratching the surface. Honestly Alexander, putting him in the field where he could be killed and his brilliance lost forever? Only THRUSH knows how to develop his talents and put them to their proper use. We will raise him, educate him, train him. He will be the perfect THRUSH operative. WE will keep him safe and give him important work to do and he will be completely loyal to us. THRUSH will be all he knows.”

Of course, it was as Waverly feared. “There is only one problem with your plan, Victor.” Waverly shifted in his seat. “That serum that was given to Mister Kuryakin and Mrs Clay. It’s having other effects you didn’t plan on. Your subjects may be dying. There is abnormal cellular activity that our scientists can’t explain that might be fatal. Even if you were to acquire Mister Kuryakin, he could be dead in a week. Or a month, we don’t know.”

Marton’s smug expression never left his face. He watched Waverly through lidded eyes. “Indeed? Our scientists can resolve that once we have him.”

Marton rose to take his leave telling Waverly he will return shortly and then, his friend Alexander will assist him in acquiring the child.

 

***

 

Napoleon listened to the observing agents’ reports with growing fury. He understood the difficulties of noonday traffic in Manhattan, but why was there no aerial support? Why wasn’t there a helicopter overhead watching? Waverly didn’t order one, he learned. Napoleon sent a team out looking for the car that was last observed carrying Marton and Waverly as described by the agent who was broadsided. The trail ended under an overpass where apparently there was another vehicle switch. He ordered a watch on Laguardia in case Marton decided to skip town, with or without Waverly, but he had little hope that it would help. After what Illya told them, he realized Waverly was right in suspecting that THRUSH would be after him. That has to be the reason why Marton grabbed Waverly, but why? Did they think UNCLE would exchange Illya for Waverly? They couldn’t be that naive. 

Illya. He wanted Illya’s perspective, his advice. Napoleon had long ago come to the realization that he reached the status of chief enforcement agent not solely on his own merits but from his partnership with Illya Kuryakin. He needed him. He needed him now. He reached for the button to call Medical to have him brought up to Waverly’s office when the door hissed open to admit the toddler that was his friend. 

Napoleon stared, shocked. Illya tried to stride purposefully into the office, but failed due to the stubby little legs that he had to work with. And he was wearing a badge with a twenty-six on it, Doctor Martin’s badge!

“What…? HOW?” Napoleon gaped.

“They took my badge, so I improvised” Illya explained calmly. "What is the situation?”

Napoleon picked him up and seated him in the chair next to him, trying to remember not to kiss him. He told Illya what he knew about Waverly’s strategy for backup and finding the cars under the overpasses.

“No doubt there are more. In this city, trying to locate an abandoned vehicle is like looking for a needle in a haystack.”

Napoleon pulled out a map of the city, pointing to the locations where the two cars they know about were found. “Mister Waverly met Marton at this cafe here.” He poked a position on the map. “That car was abandoned here,” he said pointing to a spot to the east near the river. “The second car was found here,” he said, tapping another location. 

Illya watched closely, then sat back, rubbing his upper lip. He wished he had his glasses. “You would think he was headed to the airport,” he observed.

“That was my thought. I sent agents to watch the airport just in case Marton showed up, with or without Mister Waverly.”

Illya nodded. “That’s a good plan…”

“But… what?”

“We don’t know how many times he switched cars. To be really safe, I would say no fewer than three changes. Once he is sure his tail is lost, he could have gone in any direction. He could be guiding us to focus on the airport when his destination is somewhere quite different, perhaps in the opposite direction. It’s what I would do.”

Napoleon scowled. Of course Illya was right. “Well, Marton took Mister Waverly for a reason. He wants you back and will be wanting to use Mister Waverly as a bargaining chip.”

“Most likely, but he has to know we wouldn’t negotiate with him. If we DID, you would be lucky if Mister Waverly only fired you.”

He looked down at his tiny friend who was rubbing his forehead. “How do you feel?” He asked him. 

“I’m fine, just hungry.” He felt the swollen glands under his jaw, and his armpits and other places. They were sore, but he didn’t feel feverish. The aches were easily ignored. Medical staff wouldn’t tell him anything about the results of the tests they’d done so far and they just scolded him when he insisted on knowing. He knew he should probably have stayed in the infirmary, but he was worse than useless there and he wanted to help get Waverly back.

“I’ll have lunch brought up, what do you feel like?”

Illya studied his little hands, “A sandwich is fine, but I might need a knife and fork. And a plate.”

Napoleon called down to the cafeteria and ordered the chicken salad for Illya and roast beef for himself with drinks to be brought to Waverly’s office. He had just disconnected when an urgent call came in from Medical. 

“Sir, Illya’s gone,” Doctor Martin told him frantically. “And I can’t find my badge. I think he’s hiding with it but we can’t find him.”

Napoleon stifled a chuckle. “No need to worry, doctor. He’s here with me. I’ll have security bring Illya his badge then return yours. Just sit tight.” He disconnected before she could protest and gave the order to Security. He turned to his partner.

“How DID you get here without someone picking you up and taking you back to the infirmary?” He asked.

“Few people in the corridor,” Illya said matter-of-factly. “I’m small enough to duck out of sight in an entry when someone walked by.”

A security agent named Leon arrived within minutes to exchange Illya’s number two badge for Doctor Martin’s. Leon couldn’t take his eyes off Illya, who was still a toddler but with the self assured demeanor of the adult Russian. Illya was just sitting there, gazing coolly at him, as he affixed the badge to the top of the bib of the toddler’s overalls he was wearing. Leon felt creepy, looking at him. _I was just tickling him the other day_ , he thought, hoping Illya wouldn’t remember.

Napoleon asked the man to send his apologies to Doctor Martin and dismissed him. The food arrived with the utensils Illya asked for with their drinks. It turned out Illya did need the utensils as the sandwich would have been too big even for his adult hands. They talked while they ate and devised then rejected a number of plans to find Waverly and how they were going to rescue him. 

“Mister Waverly’s only been gone for an hour,” Illya observed. “Considering traffic, they could just be reaching their destination.”

Illya finished his lunch and crawled down from the chair he had occupied, wanting to stretch his legs. He was frustrated with his small stature and his clumsy movements. His untrained muscles weren’t responding the way they used to. He wandered over to a stand in the corner and found a collection of puzzles on the top that weren’t there before. He picked one up and started working on it.

“When did Mister Waverly start playing with toys?” He asked.

“They’re yours. Section III made those for you but I suspect Mister Waverly was playing with them too.”

“Why would I have toys in Mister Waverly’s office?” He started, then stopped suddenly at Napoleon’s grin.

“How long have I been like this? Napoleon!” Illya’s face was stormy as he toddled over to Napoleon who was by now laughing out loud at the sight.

“Oh, I have stories, yes sir. It’s been a very exciting month. And you owe me a bottle of bourbon.”

“Why would I…?” He started then shook his head. He didn’t want to know. “Did I stay here that whole time? I wouldn’t be able to go home.”

“You stayed with me. Got into everything too, and I do MEAN everything. Most of your toys are in my apartment, but Mister Waverly kept a supply for you too.”

“Mister Waverly did NOT babysit me!”

“He did,” Napoleon responded with a smirk.

They were interrupted by a call from Lisa Rogers. There was a signal coming in from Waverly’s communicator.

 


	2. I do not need a nap

“We’ll meet you in Communications.” He responded quickly. “Come on!” 

Napoleon sprang from his chair and scooped up Illya, who squirmed, “Put me down, I can walk. I’m not a baby!”

 _We don’t have time for this_ , Napoleon thought but decided to humor him. “Suit yourself.” 

He plunked Illya down on the floor and hurried to the door that hissed open. Illya was running as fast as his little legs could carry him but only got four steps before he fell splat on his face. “Napoleon.”

Napoleon heard the splat and turned, hands in pockets. “Problem?”

Hating himself, Illya raised his arms to be picked up. Suppressing a wave of pity, Napoleon obliged him and carted his partner through the door and down the corridor. Napoleon didn’t want to wait for the elevator so took the stairs down to Communications.

Illya had grown pensive. “We should do the exchange.”

Napoleon couldn’t believe what he was hearing. He paused on the landing and looked at Illya as if his friend had not only lost his physical adulthood but also his mind. He shook his head and continued down the stairs and exited the stairwell.

“Not a chance,” he said. “In case you haven’t noticed, you have the body of an eighteen month old baby. You wouldn’t have a prayer of getting Mister Waverly out of there, if they even bring you to him. Out of the question.”

“Napoleon, we can’t find Mister Waverly. He’s wearing his belt, isn’t he? You know, press the buckle twice and activate the alert and tracker.”

“Of course he is, why?”

“Marton doesn’t know I have my memories back,” Illya told him as if explaining it to a child. “I will have a tracker on me. As soon as they bring me to Mister Waverly, I can activate the tracker on his belt. That way if they separate us, you’d be able to find us both.”

Illya stopped talking as they passed a pair of agents heading in the opposite direction. He continued as soon as they were out of earshot. “I wouldn’t even have to fight, UNCLE can do it for us. I can free Mister Waverly and he can help. Even with this body I’m not completely helpless, there are weapons even a small child can use.”

“IF they bring you to Mister Waverly.” Napoleon paused before entering the communications center. “That’s too big an ‘if,’ my little friend, you’d be searched and the tracker taken off of you. What if they changed your clothes? The tracker would be gone and we’d lose you both.”

“This is not a problem,” Illya replied cryptically.

Napoleon entered with Illya to find Lisa Rogers already there with the Communications supervisor. “What have we got?” Napoleon asked.

“A signal came in from Mister Waverly’s communicator, but it wasn’t long enough to get a fix on it, sir,” replied Lisa. She pointed to a panel. Napoleon moved closer so Illya could get a better look at it. “Since we called you, three more came in, each one longer than the one preceding it. If this keeps up, we’ll be able to lock onto its location. Maybe it’s Mister Waverly doing it, maybe it’s a trap.”

Illya shook his head. “Marton would have taken his communicator.”

Lisa’s head jerked around to look at him.

“His memory is back,” Napoleon explained briefly.

Lisa nodded curtly, “Welcome back, Illya.”

“Not quite yet, but thank you.” 

Another signal came in, but this time it was Waverly himself.

“Open channel D. Come in, Mister Solo.”

Napoleon, Illya, and Lisa exchanged looks. Napoleon punched a button and picked up a microphone with his free hand.

“Solo here. Where are you sir? Are you all right?”

“Oh yes, yes, I’m fine, Mister Solo,” chuckle, “Victor and I decided to take a drive so we could talk in private. Sorry about any mess back there, I neglected to tell the team that I was leaving, so I wanted to contact you to let you know everything’s all right.”

“Very good, sir. When can we expect you back?”

“Oh, it won’t be until later this afternoon, possibly early evening, I suppose.” There was a pause. “I’ll be in touch. Waverly out.” And with that he disconnected.

“Did you get the trace on it?” He asked Lisa.

She shook her head. “It wasn’t coming from his communicator. Whatever they used kept hopping from one relay to another. THRUSH must have gotten our communication frequency and duplicated it using their own system.”

“All right,” Napoleon said, making a decision. “If they have our frequency, they’ll be able to intercept our communications. Scrambled or not, in time they’ll be able to decode them.” He turned to the Communications supervisor who was listening, puzzled. “It’s about time we changed the frequency we use for our communications. Notify anyone still in the field by secure channel so they can adjust their communicators. But continue monitoring this frequency for anyone still in the field, especially for Mister Waverly.”

“You got it, sir,” he replied.

 

***

 

 

“Well done, Alexander, WELL done,” purred Marton as he disconnected the communication with UNCLE headquarters.

Waverly was sitting strapped to a chair, a powerful hypnotic was being fed into his veins by a doctor who was standing by monitoring the dosage.

Waverly dimly heard the words coming out of his mouth but was powerless to stop them. The more he talked, less appalled he was about the subterfuge.

 

 

***

 

 

Napoleon left Communications with Illya, confused but suspicious. As he headed for the elevator on his way back to Waverly’s office, he looked over at Illya who appeared to be falling asleep, he could barely hold his head up. Napoleon gently pushed his partner’s head down to his shoulder and held his hand there as he walked.

“What are you doing?” came the voice from his shoulder.

“You’re falling asleep, you need a nap. I’m taking you to the office where you can sleep for a bit. Or would you prefer the infirmary?”

“No! I do not need a nap. We have work to do.” He tried to raise his head but Napoleon held him fast. Frustrated, Illya forced himself to relax. Napoleon was right, this little body didn’t have the stamina and was growing, of course he would be tired. He guessed his muscles ached from that walk from the infirmary to Waverly’s office. He knew too that Mister Waverly was in trouble and if he’s going to be of any use to anyone, he had to stay fresh. 

Illya had to admit that it wasn’t at all unpleasant being carried around by his partner. Napoleon held him tightly, but not enough to hurt him. In fact, he was quite comfortable. Illya settled his arm around Napoleon’s neck and felt himself drifting off.

Napoleon reached Waverly’s office and deposited his small, sleepy friend gently on the couch and covered him with his jacket. Out of habit, he bent down and kissed him on the forehead. Blue eyes opened halfway then closed again. 

“Sorry,” Napoleon said, settling his jacket collar around the child’s neck and stroking his hair. “You’re a cute baby, and I have been kissing you.”

“ ’s ok…” came the sleepy reply. 

Napoleon knelt next to the sleeping child who was no longer a child. _I may still lose him_ , he thought, and even though this little body was still here, it contained the mind of a grown man, his friend. He had them both, but had neither fully. He left his sleeping friend and headed to the chair that Waverly usually occupied to find a fresh stack of reports waiting for his review. 

 

***

 

Two hours passed. Napoleon had managed to finish the reports despite frequent interruptions from updates from agents in the field. Rodriguez reported sighting a known THRUSH operative in Dallas and had called in Donner to assist. Napoleon approved and told him to keep him updated.

Doctors Steele and Martin came in to check on the sleeping toddler, who awoke with a start when Martin touched him. She took the blood sample she needed, making soothing baby talk sounds. Illya just glared at her.

Napoleon was losing patience waiting for Waverly to call. He tried to contact him twice on his communicator to no answer. Now awake, Illya sat in the chair next to him playing with one of the puzzles Section III had made, grousing that they were too easy. 

Finally, the call came in from Waverly to the phone in the communications alcove behind Napoleon. Illya put the puzzle down as Napoleon pulled the chair over and held the phone so Illya could hear.

“Mister Solo,” Waverly said jovially. “How have things been going in my absence?”

“Busy sir, I don’t know how you do it. I’m ready for you to take over again, how soon will you be back?”

“I’m on my way. I thought I would stop for dinner and I would like for you to join me. I can fill you in on what Victor and I have been talking about. Tony's Steakhouse is right on the way back, do you know it?”

Napoleon and Illya exchanged glances. “That’s in Chelsea, isn’t it? Yes, I’ve heard of it.”

“Good. Oh yes, and bring Mister Kuryakin. They have a children’s menu that he should enjoy. What do you say, in an hour?”

Napoleon paused, “Aaaah, well, I’m almost done with these reports. Say an hour and a half?”

“Very well,” Waverly responded. “An hour and a half it is. Waverly out.”

The call disconnected. 

 


	3. We do what we must

Napoleon called an emergency meeting of the agents that were in town. As the agents were arriving, Illya told Napoleon to call down to Section III to have them bring up an X67, they’ll know what it is. 

Section III and Lisa Rogers arrived along with the last of the agents. Once everyone was there, he set Illya on the table and turned him around so he could see, standing behind him.

“I received a call from Mister Waverly about ten minutes ago,” he explained. “He wants me to bring Illya to Tony's Steakhouse in Chelsea, on E 20th and Park. Now, they’ve already tried to grab him once, but they don’t know he has his memory back and they want to raise him in THRUSH and we can’t allow that. Logan, Washington, and Simmons, I want you to cover the back entrance and watch the front. Check the restaurant then report back on whether Mister Waverly’s there. Marton has him, so there’s a chance he’s under his control somehow. Don’t make contact with him, just confirm that he’s there. If Mister Waverly IS under THRUSH control, we don’t want him signaling Marton that Illya’s not there. Go now.”

The men left immediately. To the rest, “Rivera, I want you in a helicopter ready to go. Be ready to follow the signal from Illya’s tracker. Illya?”

“Pradeep.” Illya called. The man from Section III hurried over and placed a sphere the size of a child’s marble in Illya’s little hand. He stared at the toddler, fascinated. “Thank you. This,” he held up the device, “is the X67, our latest tracking device. It has a range of five miles, but you want to be within that range for the best signal strength. The device is designed to be swallowed, it’s plastic coating will withstand stomach acid. With this, you don’t have to worry about someone relieving you of it because it’s inside you. No scars from embedding the tracker in your skin.”

“Excuse me,” the woman named Cahill spoke up. “You’re going to swallow that, right?” Illya nodded. “You’ll excrete it. What is your gut transit time? And what happens when it IS excreted?”

“Very good questions,” Illya answered. “Anyone still requiring tracking who excretes it will have to clean it off and swallow it again.”

Napoleon and the agents looked ill. “We do what we must.” Illya said flatly.

The rest of the agents were divided up into teams, four agents in cars ready to go on Park Ave. and E 20th, another team to surround him and Illya when they got there to walk them to the restaurant, then watch the doors. The team left to take up their positions and to be ready to surround Napoleon and Illya when they got out of their car. 

“Lisa, you’re going to coordinate communications and monitor Illya’s tracker. If you see him moving from the site of the restaurant, Rivera goes up, got it?”

“Yes sir, I’ll be ready.”

 

***

 

Logan, Washington and Simmons parked a block away from the restaurant and exited their car. Logan entered the restaurant and looked around. The hostess wasn’t at the podium, so he craned his head to read the names written in the book on the stand and saw ‘Waverly, party of 3.’ He was there now. He casually scanned the tables. The tables were already full, but there in the back, in the corner, was an older man wearing Waverly’s jacket smoking a pipe. Same hair, it was him. Wanting to make sure, he stepped further into the restaurant to get a better look. He encountered the hostess before he got too close, who asked him if he was looking for a table or if he was meeting someone there. Remembering the names in the book, he told her he was meeting a Jack Murphy there and was looking for his table. 

“There is a Jack Murphy here, but his party is all present. Is it the same Jack Murphy? She pointed to a table.”

“No that’s not him,” he laughed. “I must have the wrong day, sorry to trouble you.” 

Logan left and walked a few paces away and called it in. Waverly was there.

 

***

 

Napoleon was relieved at the report and considered the possibility that Waverly was telling the truth, but he thought he would rather be embarrassed by taking extreme precautions than to get caught in a trap and lose Illya AND Waverly. They were halfway to the restaurant when an urgent signal came in from Doctor Martin.

“Napoleon, where is Illya? We just finished the analysis of his latest blood sample and he must be brought in immediately! “

Stuck in traffic, Napoleon’s heart leaped in alarm. _Not now, please NOT NOW_ , he pleaded silently. “Well that’s going to be a little difficult. We’re stuck in traffic on our way to meet Mister Waverly. Tell me what you found and don’t get technical.”

Doctor Steele butted in, “Mister Solo, his growth hormone levels have shot up to astronomical levels and there are other changes, which you wouldn’t understand. Please, we don’t know what this is going to do to him. We don’t want to lose him like we lost Mrs Clay!”

Napoleon glanced down at the toddler who was shaking his head, mouthing “no.” He noticed his friend was rubbing his legs.

“Look, I’ll get him back there as soon as possible. There are agents waiting for us there, I’ll make contact with Mister Waverly then put him in a car to rush him back. Best I can do. Solo out.”

He disconnected then inched forward in the rush hour traffic on his way to meet Mister Waverly. Or to fight whatever was waiting for them. Grim determination won out over panic and grief. They were committed now, nothing more can be done unless he could come up with another plan in the meantime.

“Tell me what I was like before I got my memories back,” Illya changed the subject. “What did I do, did I say anything? IF Mister Waverly is being controlled by Marton, we don’t want to arouse his, suspicions.”

“You spoke only Ukrainian,” Napoleon started, his face grim. “You were picking up some English words, but we don’t know how much of it you understood. You threw the occasional toddler tantrum and were very fond of yelling “No” when you didn’t want to do something. You solved every puzzle they gave you fairly easily and you have a purple stuffed bear you named ‘Sasha’. You just wanted your family. You ate everything in sight and kept wanting to bring food to them, they were hungry.“

Illya looked at him sharply. “A purple stuffed bear named Sasha,” he repeated. He was horrified that his tot self would reveal so much to anyone but Napoleon - who didn’t even know everything.

“And you started calling Mister Waverly ‘dyadʹko Sasha’ ” Napoleon continued. “He loved that, by the way. You two adored each other.”

The ache he was feeling in his muscles spread to his bones in a sudden wave of pain that subsided quickly. Illya just hoped he could hold out for the duration of this mission if he was taken.

  _It’s all too much_ , Illya thought, humiliated. _I’m never going to hear the end of it, if I live long enough_.

Illya read the expression on Napoleon’s face and the whiteness of his knuckles on the steering wheel. He favored his friend with a half smile. “Napoleon. I accept the risk to myself for the sake of the job and for others. It’s my choice, my decision.”

“And my responsibility,” came the bitter reply.

“It’s the job,” Illya pointed out, wanting to put an end to the discussion. “Mister Waverly comes first. That is the only consideration here.”

 _No it’s NOT_ , Napoleon wailed internally, but there would be no arguing with his partner. His head knew that Illya was right, but his heart rebelled furiously. They have set this plan into motion and they couldn’t back out now if they hoped to get Waverly back. 

They were on Broadway within a block of the restaurant. He radioed his position and was instructed turn onto E 20th. He did so just as a car was pulling away from the curb only a few car lengths before the entrance to Tony's Steakhouse. He slid his car smoothly into the slot and turned off the engine. He motioned for Illya to join him and his friend dutifully climbed into his lap and wrapped his arms around his neck. They gave each other a squeeze. 

“Ready?” Napoleon asked.

“Let’s go,” replied Illya. 

The group of five UNCLE agents moved swiftly to surround them as they headed to the restaurant to walk with them the six yards to the door. Another two groups of people, one boisterous group of eight turning onto E 20th from Park and another group coming up from Broadway behind them. The agents quickened their steps to reach the door before they encountered what could be a crowd of ruffians. The group, loudly arguing and shoving each other, engulfed the agents, involving them in their shoving match. Cries of “watch out, there’s a child here,” went unheeded as the second group joined them. 

In the confusion, a man in the second group bludgeoned Napoleon on the back of his head, stunning him, as a woman from the first group wrenched Illya out of his arms and handed the screaming child off to a man in the back seat of a black Plymouth that was just then slowly passing by. The car sped off and turned right onto Park. The woman also ran to Park but turned left.

 

***

 

Lisa was watching the signal from Illya’s tracker back in UNCLE communications. She saw it reach the restaurant’s location and pause, then move away. 

“THRUSH has Illya, move!” She barked the order. “Rivera, airborne now. Don’t lose that signal!”

 

***

 

It took the agents precious minutes to disentangle themselves from the mayhem. Two of them broke free and went after the woman but she was gone. The car with Illya was as hampered by the city traffic as the cars attempting to follow. It stopped at a light and a pedestrian took the handoff of Illya and turned the corner with him. One of the driving agents abandoned his car and ran after them, but both were gone, no doubt into a waiting car, but which one? Illya was gone. Nothing left to do now but follow the tracker he swallowed.

Napoleon pulled himself upright after being stepped on by scuffling feet and finally broke free of the maelstrom on the sidewalk as the crowd began to disburse. He ran into Tony’s to find Waverly. He located him at a table in the back and hurried in his direction, telling the hostess he was with the Waverly party. The disheveled agent rubbed the back of his head as he reached the table. “Mister Waverly!”

The man at the table looked up at him and smiled. He wore Waverly’s jacket and bore a strong resemblance to his boss, but he was decidedly not Mister Waverly.

 

***

 

Illya shrieked and struggled against his captors as a toddler would. Another wave of pain, stronger than the last washed through him, so he didn’t have to act. 

He was in the back seat with a middle-aged man who had begun to undress Illya to replace his clothes with an outfit they brought with them in case he had a tracker on him. The man did as he was instructed, searching the boy for any trace of a recent incision and found none. He finally managed to dress the squirming child and tossed his old outfit out the window.

Illya rejected the Fig Newton the man tried to feed him to calm him down. He didn’t need the fiber from the figs because he didn’t relish the thought of having to again swallow his tracker just yet. He trusted Napoleon and his plan as well as his fellow UNCLE agents to retrieve him quickly. He just hoped they took him to Marton now that Waverly was safe.

 

***

 

Napoleon satisfied himself that the tracker was working and that they could pinpoint Illya’s location. Then he and the agents escorted the man from the restaurant back to headquarters.

He gave instructions to Lisa to notify him when the movement of Illya’s signal stopped and joined Mark and April in Interrogation. The man seemed proud of himself.

As he walked in, the man was saying, “I told you, my name is Elmer J. Wilson. I’m an actor. You might have seen me in ‘Stomping Grounds’ off-broadway. No? What about ‘Gramercy’? ‘Chelsey morning’? I worked very hard on that Scottish accent for that one and did quite well if I do say so myself.”

“Why were you at that restaurant pretending to be Mister Waverly?” April asked.

Still slightly miffed that they hadn’t heard of him, “I got a call from someone who said he was from a new talent agency, said he had a job for me. They paid me two-hundred dollars to wear this jacket, arrange a table for three under the name of Waverly then just sit there until the rest of my party arrived. The agency was, what was it? Sparrow! That’s it. James Sparrow. That’s all I know. The gentleman said that they would have a contract for me if this worked out.” He looked at them hopefully. “How did I do?”

Mark and Napoleon exchanged glances. “You fooled us,” Napoleon told him. He left with Mark, who followed him to Communications to monitor Illya’s tracker, praying they didn’t lose hm.

“I suppose you’ll be wanting an investigation of this James Sparrow agency,” Mark told him as they entered the communications center.

“Yes, but I’m betting we won’t find anything,” Napoleon answered hurrying over to Lisa’s station.

Lisa barely removed her eyes from the tracker that showed Illya’s location. “Still moving, sir. It looks like he’s airborne judging from the altitude and the sudden increase of speed. Headed north by northeast.”

“Get another helicopter up there and have them pick up the signal then take over for Rivera. We can’t let them know they’re being followed. Bring Rivera back, we will be needing him here.”

 


	4. I have special plans for you

The men in the car handed off Illya to another pedestrian who carried him to the passenger in a waiting helicopter at the helipad on West 30th. She stepped back as the slowly rotating blades sped up, lifting the bird and its passengers several hundred feet in the air and followed the course that was set to their final destination.

“Cute kid,” shouted the pilot over the noise of the engines, then radioed in to Marton that he had the child and would be there in about fifteen minutes.

“He is,” agreed his passenger, stroking the child in his lap’s hair and playing with his little hands. “Marton said he’s special and could be all our boss one day.”

“Is that a fact?” The pilot responded, stealing another glance at the tow-headed baby in his companion’s lap. 

The man holding Illya squeezed him, “You having fun, little guy?”

He couldn’t hear the child’s babble over the engines and took it as a ‘yes.’

“We’re not being followed, are we?” He asked the pilot.

“I thought I was earlier,” replied the pilot, “but it changed direction and moved off. Must have just been going the same general direction as we are.”

“Good. We can’t screw this up,” he shouted back.

“WE CAN’T SCREW THIS UP!” the baby shouted in his high, childish voice.

The two men laughed, “I heard THAT,” chortled the passenger.

They couldn’t know Illya meant what he said. He was convinced that these waves of pain he was experiencing would mean his own death. He needed to hold on at least until he reached Marton. They’d see his signal stop moving and descend upon the place to take Marton into custody. By now, Waverly would be safely back at headquarters, no doubt helping to coordinate the agents’ movements. He hoped he wouldn’t suspend or worse yet fire Napoleon for bringing him there and losing him in the process. Illya hoped that Waverly would go easier on him once he was told his memory returned.

 _We can’t screw this up_ , Illya was musing. _I just need to stay alive long enough for UNCLE to get Marton._ He was saddened at the thought of Napoleon getting the news of his death and hoped he would be all right, it was going to be hard on him. _Don’t let it change you, Napoleon_ he thought.

His thoughts were interrupted by the lowering of altitude as the chopper was coming in for a landing in the expansive front lawn of a large, old mansion. There were three people outside waiting. Two THRUSH guards and Victor Marton. 

This is it.

 

***

 

 

“They’ve stopped,” reported Lisa. Napoleon ran his fingers through his hair, brushing errant locks off his forehead. “It’s New Rochelle, sir.”

“Do you have an address?” 

Lisa adjusted the resolution of the location, and responded with an address on Wilmot Rd.

Napoleon ordered Rivera to finish gassing up the helicopter, he was on his way. Three more helicopters were ordered in the air with heavily armed agents, one with a medical team to be ready to go in five minutes. He turned to sprint to the roof to meet up with Rivera when a shout from Lisa stopped him.

“Sir! There is a second signal overlaid on Illya’s. He found Mister Waverly.”

 

***

 

“Well, there’s my young man,” purred Marton as he accepted the toddler from his agent. “I take it they offered no resistance? You weren’t followed were you?”

“No sir. We did exactly what you told us to do and it went like clockwork. He has no trackers on him, he was checked thoroughly.”

“Very good,” he turned and carried his prize back into the mansion that was loaned to him by a member of THRUSH Central as the helicopter lifted off and flew back to Manhattan.

Illya continued chattering in Ukrainian, his skin crawling from being held so by Marton. UNCLE should be on their way, but unless they could fly everyone there, it was going to be a while with New York City traffic. He noted that the pain had lessened for the last ten minutes and considered it a good sign. He would prefer to return alive, but he wanted Marton punished for what he did, no matter the cost to himself.

The hypnotic that was given to Waverly had worn off, leaving him woozy and confused. He was still… or back? … sitting in a chair with his hands tied behind the chair, his ankles similarly confined. He vaguely remembered talking to Solo and directing him to meet him… where? Bring Kuryakin? He hoped not. If he did, he hoped Solo wouldn’t listen. He shook his head to clear it.

“Look Alexander, a visitor!” The oily voice preceded the man and baby into the room. Waverly’s heart sank in despair at the sight of Illya in his arms. _I’m so sorry, Illya_. _I’m sorry_ _Mister Solo, I failed you both. I failed us all._

Illya recovered swiftly from his shock at seeing Waverly there. “Dyadʹko Sasha! Dyadʹko Sasha!” He reached out little arms towards Waverly, who smiled weakly at him.

Enjoying the despair Waverly’s must have been feeling, “This young man is happy to see his Dyad’ko Sasha. I presume ‘dyad’ko’ is Russian for uncle, am I right?” He moved closer and placed the child in Waverly’s lap. “Just so you can say goodbye before we whisk this young man off to a THRUSH family who will raise him properly. I may even raise him myself,” he added as an afterthought.

Illya wrapped his arms around Waverly’s neck gleefully. He sat and started tickling Waverly who said, “Ah yes, I see you remember tickles. How could you forget, my boy?” 

Hiding his hands from Marton, his tickling inched closer to Waverly’s belt and pressed the buckle twice, activating Waverly’s own tracker. Waverly felt the movement and his gaze at the child sharpened. Illya was smiling up at him. The tot caught Waverly’s eye and winked. 

Waverly stifled the sudden hope that overcame him and kept his expression carefully casual. He looked up at Marton. “So Victor. You have what you came here to get, I suppose you’ll be allowing me go on my way.”

“On the contrary dear friend, I have special plans for you. I…” he was interrupted by the ringing  phone. He explained he needed to get this call he was expecting from THRUSH Central, so he excused himself to answer, turning his back on his captives. Illya slid off Waverly’s lap and moved quickly behind him and tugged at the rope holding his hands, undoing the knot.

Marton was checking an entry in a ledger that was open on the desk, so Illya loosened the knots on the ropes tying Waverly’s ankles, then proceeded to toddle about the room, exploring, singing a Ukrainian folk song his mother used to sing to him.

He never regretted his part in taking care of the younger children after the Nazis were driven out of Ukraine, and he was finding it more than useful now. He was maneuvering himself to the other side of the room while Waverly undid his the binding on his hands. Marton had turned to watch Illya as he talked.  Waverly was just about to work on his ankles when the door opened. Waverly instantly resumed his position, hands behind the chair, hoping nobody would check his bonds. 

“Very good,” Marton was saying to the caller. “Excellent. Thank you, you will not regret this.” He turned and greeted the distinguished-looking elder-statesman-looking man who had entered. “Oh good, Mister Johanssen, you are right on time.”

“Victor,” the man said, shaking Marton’s hand. “So, where is this great future for THRUSH that you promised?”

Marton turned back and spied the child now looking like he was reaching for the books. He moved quickly to pick him up, which started Illya whining and squirming in his arms. 

“I present to you, Illya Kuryakin. The future of THRUSH,” he announced proudly. 

Johanssen was dubious. He knew about Kuryakin to be sure, but would the child even live? He had read the reports coming from Steele’s research and THRUSH Central was not convinced that the formula would produce normal aging after treatment. Marton did manage to lose both subjects shortly after the serum was administered to them. He pointed this out to Marton who waved off his concerns.

“Doctor Steele should know how to fix it any problems with the formula. I’ve sent my people out to pick him up, they should be returning with him shortly. You shall have your ‘fountain of youth’ and a genius polymath for us to raise as our very own. He will do great things for us,” he assured his boss. 

Marton turned to Illya, who was still squirming to get down. “Do you know who this is? This is Mister Emil Johanssen, your NEW uncle, not like that old bad man that had you before. WE will take GOOD care of you, yes.”

“Old bad man,” Illya repeated. “Old bad man, old bad man.” 

Johanssen harrumphed, Marton stifled a smile, chiding the writhing child he was holding that he shouldn’t say such things to his benefactor.

Waverly was almost giddy with hope but managed to maintain a cool demeanor. Not only was THRUSH to be foiled in their ambitions to raise Illya, but the child had somehow gotten to him and activated his tracker. He didn’t know if he should be furious with Solo for involving Illya or if he should give him a raise. But since the toddler had his memory back, bringing him in would be a cunning move. 

Marton was growing increasingly annoyed by Illya’s refusal to hold still. “Do you want me to put you down, young man?”

“Down! Vnyz! Down young man! Old bad man!”

With a shrug he placed Illya on the floor where the little body went rigid then went suddenly limp. Marton and Johanssen both knelt beside him in alarm. Waverly leaned forward, concerned. Both men were focused on the seemingly lifeless little body on the floor trying to revive him. Waverly dropped the rope that tied his hands and quickly undid the ropes holding his ankles and rising unsteadily to his feet, grabbed a table lamp and struck Marton over the head with it knocking him down. As Marton fell, Waverly reached into Marton’s jacket and snatched the THRUSH special he carried.

Johanssen was quicker on the draw and was bringing his gun to bear on Waverly, but screamed from a sharp pain in his ankle when the child rolled over and sunk his teeth into his leg. Waverly wrested the gun out of the man’s hand and brought the butt of Marton’s gun down on his head. Johanssen joined Marton unconscious on the floor.

Illya was now incapacitated by the growing pain that he could no longer ignore. He writhed, crying out as Waverly bound Marton and Johanssen with the ropes that previously bound his own hands and feet. That done, he wedged the back of the chair he formerly occupied under the door knob, effectively barricading the door then collected both mens’ guns and the child and moved him to the corner farthest away from the door. 

“Illya. Illya!” He gently slapped little cheeks, then felt for a pulse. It was faint and thready then it stopped. He started CPR compressions on the little chest, trying to get his heart beating. Still no pulse.  He blew into the child’s nose and mouth, then resumed compressions, all the while talking to him, calling him, trying to bring him back. Finally, he raised his fist and brought it down sharply in the middle of the child’s chest. The sudden intake of air reassured him that the move worked, at least for now. He picked the up crying child and held him close. He heard shouts and gunfire outside and pounding on the door as someone tried to get in.

WHUMP!!

The pounding stopped as the men outside the door left to investigate the window-rattling explosion. The child moaned. Waverly kept his fingers on the child’s wrist monitoring his pulse. The little face was contorted in pain as blue eyes opened and managed to lock on to him.

“Mister Waverly,” he said weakly.

“Ssshhh sshhh, don’t try to talk.” He sat there on the floor and cradled him in his arms, placing his finger on the side of his neck to watch his pulse. “We’ll get you back to headquarters, it’s going to be all right.” Then, “Good job.”

 

***

 

Napoleon loaded up with armaments and boarded Rivera’s chopper to speed him through the darkening sky to New Rochelle and the address that held Waverly and Illya. The display in the control panel showed that neither tracker had moved. He guessed Illya would still be alive if he managed to convince Marton that he didn’t have his memories, but Waverly would be expendable now that they had Illya. He looked to left and right and saw three more choppers alongside him, one of them an airborne ambulance carrying Diane from Medical, just in case.  At this speed they should be there in fifteen minutes. Napoleon wasn’t a praying man, but found himself mentally asking for help.

Rivera guided the craft unerringly over the tops of the buildings in Manhattan. Napoleon always enjoyed the view, but this time he didn’t remove his eyes from the direction of their destination unless it was to check the tracking display.

It felt like the longest fifteen minutes of his life, but finally their destination was in sight. It was an old mansion mostly of brick with a large front porch and a tower of sorts. THRUSH guards who had heard the approaching helicopters shouted to each other and fired their weapons at the agents. The helicopter passengers returned fire, bringing down the guards.

“That shed nearby,” shouted Rivera. 

Napoleon nodded. He reached back and retrieved a shoulder-held rocket launcher and took aim. He fired. The shed exploded in a fireball that far exceeded the power of the rocket. He grinned tightly in satisfaction, the light from the fireball illuminating the entire yard. “Weapons storage,” he crowed.

The helicopters touched down, surrounding the house. A final check showed that both trackers were still in the house. 

Guns raised, the agents boiled out of the choppers and approached the house. Four THRUSH guards lie prone on the lawn surrounding the house.

“There may be more inside,” Napoleon pointed out unnecessarily. 

The front door was hanging open so Napoleon and Rivera entered cautiously. They cleared the ground floor as the others spread out to check the upper levels. There was a brief exchange of gunfire on one of the upper floors followed immediately by a muted thud as one of the rounds found its target.

 The agents all gathered on the ground floor reporting only one guard was found. Marton was not seen leaving the house so he must still be there with Illya and Waverly. One door on the ground floor to the right of the entrance couldn’t be opened. If Marton had them, he could kill them. 

He pounded on the door. “Marton. Open up, you’re surrounded. It’s over.”

“Mister Solo,” came the voice from inside the room. It was Waverly! “The door is barricaded I’m afraid, you’ll have to shoot the hinges.”

“Is Marton in there? Are you safe?”

“Oh don’t worry about him,” Waverly said urgently. “Just get in here. And hurry.”

Napoleon and Rivera took aim and fired at the edge of the door where the hinges would be then shoved the door. It took the two of them three attempts to dislodge the heavy wooden door before it flopped lazily into the room. They saw the chair wedged up under where the knob was and the trussed up figures of Marton and another man nearby. In the corner he found Waverly cradling Illya who was convulsing and looked to be unconscious. 

Rivera sped out to retrieve Diane as Napoleon rushed into the room and knelt beside his boss and his best friend. “Are you all right?” he asked Waverly.

“Yes, yes, I’m fine. You needn’t worry about me. It’s this little one who requires urgent medical attention.”

Rivera returned with Diane who took charge immediately. She took Illya from Waverly’s arms and laid him gently on the floor. She busied herself with the stethoscope and listened to his heart.

“His heart stopped twice,” Waverly told her as Napoleon helped him to his feet. “I was able to revive him but I can’t say if he’ll survive another episode.”

“We have to go. Now!” Diane picked up Illya and ran back to the medical chopper telling Waverly to come with her.

“You’d better go with her. I’ll finish things here.” Napoleon said reluctantly, prodding Marton’s moaning body with his toe.

“I think it’s best if you come along too,” Waverly said. He didn’t know if his number two would survive the trip back to headquarters and he decided he couldn’t live with himself if Illya didn't make it and Solo wasn’t able to be there to say goodbye.

Washington, who had come with them had entered the room and checked the bodies on the floor. “Go with them, Napoleon. I can finish this up. Just go, time’s wasting.”

Napoleon gratefully clapped him on the shoulder and escorted Waverly to the waiting craft. The pilot was on the radio notifying Medical that they would be there in fifteen minutes or less and to be ready.

It was cramped in the back of the chopper as Diane worked furiously to keep Illya alive until they got back to Medical. Blue eyes opened. “Napoleon…” Illya said weakly.

He reached around Diane to take the child’s hand. “I’m here. Don’t worry, everyone is safe. Mister Waverly is here. It’s going to be all right, you just hang on, ok?”

The child with Illya’s personality sighed and closed his eyes.


	5. His final glimpse

Napoleon was dog tired. He was sitting in the waiting area just outside the infirmary nursing a cup of coffee. He couldn’t see it, but he knew the sun had risen and the city outside the metallic walls of UNCLE headquarters was waking up and starting the work day. He knew it was a beautiful day outside but the fact didn’t lighten his mood. 

Waverly spent most of the night sitting with him. He was checked out and declared healthy by the staff that wasn’t involved with attending to Illya. He ordered Napoleon to sleep. Take one of the guest rooms and sleep for a few hours, there was nothing he could do and at least he’d be nearby. Waverly decided he was going to do the same then resume his duties. He had a report he himself had to write up for his counterparts in the other regions. 

Steele was appalled at the results of his work. He lost one of his subjects and the other was being subjected to unimaginable suffering and might not survive. Despite the millions he could make off a formula that would restore youth to the aged, he decided that maybe the price would be too high. 

He watched a young child convulse and scream in pain as his little body started growing before their eyes. They didn’t dare sedate him because they didn’t know what effect the drugs would have on the boy’s rapidly growing body. He estimated it would take sixteen hours for him to fully progress to his thirty-three year old self. If he survived, he would have to be monitored for at least a week before they could be sure that he was fully stable after the trauma that was inflicted on him.

Waverly and Napoleon left the waiting area to head to their respective rooms to rest and found Steele slumped against the wall just outside of the infirmary, his head bowed.

Alarmed, Napoleon asked, “Doctor Steele. Illya…”

The scientist shook himself from his reverie, “He’s alive. His body is growing at a prodigious rate,” he told them. “I should never have gotten involved with Marton or his organization but I believed in this work and they were generous in their funding. I didn’t know…”

“Most people who find themselves involved with Victor Marton come to that same realization,” nodded Waverly.

 

***

 

After six hours of dreamless sleep, Napoleon woke slowly. He didn’t know where he was at first, a condition he was accustomed to after waking up in so many different places over the course of his career. He looked to his right and found that he was alone in the room. Usually when he woke up in a strange place, his partner was in the room with him, occasionally in the same bed if UNCLE was being especially cheap.

Realization struck him like a bolt of lightning and he leaped out of bed. He checked the phone in the room and his communicator. No missed calls. He took that as a good sign as he jumped into the shower. He didn’t even wait for the water to warm up, the cold, needle-like droplets of water forced through the shower head revived him after that long, trying day.

The clothes that were brought to him when he checked into the room waited in the small closet near the door. He shaved and dressed quickly, grabbed his badge, keys, wallet and communicator and left the room, headed for the infirmary. His communicator was beeping before he got halfway down the corridor. He answered immediately. “Solo here.”

“Mister Solo, good. I hope I didn’t wake you,” came Waverly’s voice.

“Ah no sir. I was just on my way to the infirmary to check on Illya. Have you heard anything?”

“He’s still alive. They estimate his physical age now to be sixteen years old. You can check in with them, but I don’t know if they’ll let you see him. Once you’ve done that, come to my office. I want to discuss this latest operation with you.” With that, he disconnected.

Napoleon grimaced and pocketed his communicator and continued on to the infirmary. He took a deep breath and entered to find the staff on alert, but the frantic activity from earlier had calmed. He found the weary Doctor Martin sitting at her desk in her office holding her head in her hands, the cooling cup of coffee sitting at her elbow. He noted Illya’s purple bear on the shelf behind her desk.

“Doctor Martin. How’s Illya?” He sat in the chair across her desk. “How are YOU?”

She opened brown eyes and looked into his and smiled wearily. “Illya’s still hanging in there. The pain looks to have lessened considerably since his body is close to his adult size. Me?” She waved her hand, “I’m fine. When this is over I’m going to sleep for a week!” She chuckled.

Napoleon returned her smile. “Well you certainly deserve it after all this. Umm… Have you found out yet what killed Miriam?”

“I did,” she replied, patting a folder on the corner of her desk. “It was her heart. With her family’s permission I was able to obtain her medical history. She had already suffered two serious heart attacks and the stress of rapid aging was too much for her.”

“Natural causes, then,” said Napoleon.

“Well… Yes and no. She might not have had that cardiac arrest if she didn’t have that serum in her. Miriam could have been here for another five, ten years without it.”

“I see,” said Napoleon, saddened at her loss and for her children. It’s never easy to lose your mother no matter how old you are.

“I have to head up to Mister Waverly’s office, but I wanted to see how Illya was doing. Would it be possible for me to see him?”

“Yes I think so. Just for a few moments though, he’s mostly sleeping, but I was informed a few minutes ago that he’s awake.” She rose and bid Napoleon to follow. He followed her to the private room and they entered. 

Carol was with him, leaning over the bed speaking softly to him. Illya was watching her. 

“Carol,” Doctor Martin said, motioning her to come with her.

Carol squeezed Napoleon’s arm briefly as she followed the doctor out of the room.

Napoleon approached the bed apprehensively. His friend looked so frail. He was painfully thin, his cheeks and jawline more sharply defined than he had ever seen on him. His beard had grown in and his blond hair was down past his shoulders. He noticed that they had been clipping his nails. Illya was one of the toughest people he knew and it hurt to see him like this. He came closer and stood near his shoulder. The heart monitor beeping regularly.

“Illya,” he said softly.

Blue eyes opened slowly and looked at him. A hesitant smile spread across the gaunt face.

At a loss for words, Napoleon asked how he felt.

“I’m all right,” the heavily accented voice croaked. “I’m always all right.”

Napoleon grinned at his friend. “You’re almost through this they said.”

“What? Wait… there’s…” Illya started, suddenly concerned. He tried to sit up, muttering something incomprehensible in Russian.

Napoleon gently held him down, “Mister Waverly is back at his desk and wants me to come to his office.”

“Shcho?”

“Everything is fine,” Napoleon responded, patting Illya’s shoulder. “You rest. I’ll be back later, ok?” Concerned, he repeated it in Russian.

“ Dobre.” And with that, he drifted back to sleep.

 

***

 

Waverly sat looking at the stack of reports on his desk. He had already reviewed the notes that Solo had made regarding the field reports he had reviewed the day before. Or was it by now two days? He shook his head. Solo’s notes were shrewd and detailed. He was pleased.

He stood and walked over to look out the window at the mid-afternoon New York skyline. He had spoken to the other regional heads and promised a full report. Germany was especially concerned, not only about him but about Kuryakin. They remembered the young agent well even after all this time from the two years he spent with them. The Soviets, their navy in particular, wanted a full account of what happened to their man. He had spoken to Illya’s commanding officer who was doubly concerned. After years of chatting with him, the two men had developed a friendship and Waverly discovered that the man loved Illya like his own son. He understood.

He sighed and headed back to his desk, pausing at the side table with the puzzles that were made for the child that was in their care. Parking himself in his chair he felt a peculiar emptiness in the room. _It’s too quiet in here_ , he thought. The child that played here was full of energy but not entirely disruptive to his work. He didn’t need to babysit the boy, but he found he greatly enjoyed his young company and his Ukrainian babble. As happy as he was to get his agent back, he knew he was going to miss the child terribly.

Waverly’s ruminating was interrupted by his chief enforcement agent, who entered apologizing for the delay.

“No, that’s quite all right, Mister Solo. Were you able to visit with Mister Kuryakin? How is he?”

“Well, sir, he was awake.  He seemed confused and it’s no wonder.”

Waverly nodded. “Please, sit. We need to discuss the events of the past twenty-four hours. We’ll start when I met Victor Marton for lunch.”

Napoleon filled him in on Illya’s memory returning at almost the precise moment that they learned Waverly was gone. The plans to get him back, the signals from his communicator and the phone conversations and the invite to dinner along with the plans to keep them safe that failed. Marton had his own plans that proved to be horrifyingly effective. 

Waverly listened intently, his eyebrows occasionally raising. “It would appear that the X67 is quite an effective device. That’s just like Mister Kuryakin to be the one to test it out.”

“Yes, sir,” Napoleon smiled. “That was his idea to use it. I didn’t want to bring him and I almost didn’t, but he was our best chance of finding you.”

“Indeed, Mister Solo.” 

Waverly then filled Napoleon in on what had transpired since Marton drugged him and brought him to that place in New Rochelle. He told him about the powerful hypnotic they fed into him and that he barely remembering talking to him. Then Illya being brought to him and activating the tracker on his belt and the appearance of Emil Johanssen of THRUSH Central. It was quite an achievement, capturing those two.

“Medical reports that Mister Kuryakin will likely survive his transition to adulthood. It seems the worst of it is over.” His voice faded out. He sat back and fiddled with his pipe. 

There was a silence between them for a few seconds. “You miss him too, don’t you, sir?”

“I believe we are all going to miss him, Mister Solo. The pity for us all is that we can’t have the both of them.” He saw the expression on his chief enforcement agent’s face. “We are all going to miss that child.”

 

***

 

A few hours later, Medical reported that Illya had reached his original age but he did appear to be a few years younger. Blood tests would reveal if his mitogen activity had returned to normal but they were going to keep him for a few more days before releasing him.

Napoleon bounced into Medical after going through the reports with his boss. Things had returned to normal around headquarters. Steele was with Section VIII discussing his theories, he learned. Who knows? Maybe his perspective can help with some of the biochemistry puzzles Illya had told him they were working on.

He stopped in to see Doctor Martin and was pleased to see that she had rested and her mood lifted considerably. 

“He’s back to his old self,” she told him. “He allowed us to shave him but put up a fight when we tried to cut his hair. He can’t walk around with his hair down past his shoulders.”

Napoleon laughed knowingly, “He would if it was allowed,” he told her. 

“He’s still very tired and sleeping a lot, which is to be expected. He hasn’t said much beyond saying he felt fine. We tried to explain what happened to him, but I don’t think he understood. It might be too soon for him. You can see him if you like, he’s probably awake now.

Napoleon thanked her, then, “Oh doctor, there’s just one more thing…”

Opening the door to Illya’s room, he found him to be alone but the heart monitor still attached just to be safe. He saw that they did manage to cut his hair. It was a bit longer than it was before but close to the way he always wore it. _We’ll let Waverly deal with that,_ he decided. He approached the bed with one hand behind his back. “Hey partner.”

Alert blue eyes opened and with a half smile that faded quickly greeted his friend. “Hi. Napoleon, what happened to me?”

Napoleon reached the bed and stopped, confused. “What do you mean?” 

Illya propped himself up on his elbows. “We were leaving that satrap in Kentucky. You got out with that woman we found. I was shot.” He looked at his hands, confused. His brow furrowed when he noted that the callouses on his fingertips were gone. “Next thing I know I’m here in the infirmary and they’re trying to cut my hair. What day is it?”

Napoleon just stared at him for a moment. “Umm, it’s October 12th, my friend.”

Illya slumped back into the bed. “What happened to September? Napoleon, I lost more than a month!”

“You don’t remember anything? Nothing at all, not even anything that feels like a dream?”

Illya’s brow again furrowed, “Just, I was taken somewhere. Victor Marton was there, and some doctor giving me a shot of something. Was that a dream?”

“No, it wasn’t,” Napoleon told him. He regarded his friend sadly. 

Illya was puzzled at his expression, but thought he’d soon learn what transpired in the past month or so. Not now though, he was sleepy and couldn’t keep his eyes open.

Napoleon saw him starting to drift off. Before he did so though… “I have something for you,” he announced and proudly produced the purple bear from behind his back to show it to Illya. 

One blue eye opened then the other. “What’s this?”

“This, my friend,” said Napoleon, shaking the bear slightly, “is Sasha. And he’s yours.” 

Confused, Illya reached out and took the bear from his friend’s hand. He looked at it, front and back. It was well played with, he observed. “When did I… oh never mind,” he said finally.  He clutched the bear to his neck and looked up at Napoleon as if to say ‘happy?’

Napoleon was pleased. He smiled affectionately and settled the blankets up around Illya’s neck, tucking him in. The one open blue eye followed him as he worked, “We, dear friend, have a lot to talk about,” said Napoleon.

“Indeed,” came Illya’s low, slurred response. His eyes closed as he fell instantly asleep.

Napoleon stood regarding his friend for a moment. For an instant, seeing Illya sleeping all tucked in with Sasha, he wasn’t looking at his grown friend. He realized he was getting his final glimpse of the child he adored. For that one instant, he had them both. He knew with certainty that this would be the last time he would ever see Illya sleeping with that bear and the child would be gone forever. Napoleon quickly checked that the door was still closed, then bent down and gently kissed the child’s forehead goodbye.

 

***

 

With Illya safely recovered from the effects of the youth serum, Napoleon returned to the field. He wanted to get back to work to take his mind off the events of the past month and he thought keeping busy and a change of scenery would do him good.

Illya was withdrawn from the field temporarily to give him a chance to regain his equilibrium after losing a month out of his life. He attended the mandatory counseling sessions but thought them a waste of time. There was nothing wrong with him. He was told generally what happened to him, but he didn’t remember any of it. He decided to move on. Don’t dwell in the past, it’s over.

When he went back to work, it seemed people were happy to see him, but he noticed that they had changed. Things weren’t the same as they were before. He said nothing, just went about fulfilling his duties and tried and failed to not think about it. He wanted to know, but didn’t want what he considered to be a useless distraction.

 

***

 

It was early Friday evening when Napoleon’s plane from Barcelona touched down at Laguardia. He collected his suitcase and his car and drove himself home.  Keys in hand, he sorted out his house key as he headed down the hallway to his apartment door when he stopped in front of Illya’s apartment. The sounds of a lovely melody being plucked on a guitar wafted faintly through the door and into the hall. He stepped close to put his ear up to the door and heard singing:

It is the evening of the day  
I sit and watch the children play  
Smiling faces I can see  
But not for me  
I sit and watch  
As tears go by

 

The music stopped mid-note, then started over again. He managed a fond smile and continued on his way to his own apartment.

He paused at the entrance to his own apartment and hesitated, dreading opening the door. This was his first day back to his apartment since he took the child that was his partner back to headquarters to stay. He hesitated with key in lock and nearly went back to headquarters to sleep but decided he needed to go in anyway. There’s no point in continuing to avoid returning to his home, he should just get it over with.

He turned the key, opened the door and walked in to find the apartment just as he left it. He walked in, loosening his tie and set his suitcase down in the bedroom. He didn’t feel like going to bed so he changed his clothes and headed back out to the living room. There were toys scattered on the floor in front of the couch that didn’t get picked up the night before he left with Illya for headquarters. He stepped over the Lego house Illya half built and sat on the floor where he used to sit playing with the child, facing the emptiness he felt. _He didn’t die, he’s just grown up_ , he thought. It was little comfort. The apartment was so empty without the sound of Ukrainian babble and the clatter of toys and childish laughter. _The child is gone, but his ghost will remain forever._

The ringing doorbell interrupted his reverie. He didn’t want to move, but he knew who it was, so he raised himself up to his knees and pressed the button on the lamp stand to admit his partner.

The door opened then closed immediately. He heard the sound of his friend’s footsteps as he walked briskly into the living room as Napoleon resumed his place on the floor. 

Illya watched him for a few seconds then handed him the bottle of bourbon and the purple bear he was carrying, then continued on to the kitchen. 

Napoleon gaped at the bottle, then at Illya. “You remembered!”

“Remembered what?” Illya asked as he retrieved a pair of glasses from the cupboard and returned to the living room.

Illya gingerly stepped over the toys on the carpet and seated himself on the floor next to Napoleon, who was already opening the bottle. He had been waiting for Napoleon to return home so he could talk to him. He had happened to glance towards the door while he was singing and saw the shadow of his friend’s feet when he stepped up to listen.

“Remembered what?” Illya repeated as he took the glass Napoleon had filled for him.

Napoleon shook his head. “It’s a long story.” He looked down at the purple bear he was holding in his hands like it was his own beating heart. “Sasha. This is yours,” he said finally, handing it tenderly to Illya who took it reluctantly. Illya remembered nothing, but he could tell this purple bear held great significance for his friend.

Illya was watching him carefully. His friend was in a great deal of pain and it touched him too. “I’m sorry I don’t remember,” he said. “I was hoping you would tell me about it.”

“How have things been, since you’ve been… back?” Napoleon asked instead.

Illya thought about it for a long moment. “It’s been strange,” he admitted. “I couldn’t put my finger on it, but people around headquarters have been acting like they’re happy to see me. But they seem… I don’t know. ‘Sad’ is the only word I can think of to describe it. Even Mister Waverly! He tries to hide it, but I can’t miss it. Napoleon please, I need to know. Doctor Martin said I was… a child? What does that mean?”

Napoleon topped off his glass and threw his arm around his partner’s shoulder, swallowed the lump in his throat and started talking. Illya tucked his purple bear under his arm and listened, sipping his bourbon.

“See all these toys? They’re yours. Yes they are, you played with them. You were small, about eighteen months old, they said. Don’t look at me like that, your body was eighteen months old with only the memories you had at eighteen months. You asked, just listen….”

 

 


End file.
